


Bulletproof Weeks

by saccarines (orphan_account)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Police, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Inappropriate Humor, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-01-21 18:04:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1559276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/saccarines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Officer Steven Rogers believes the best of people, no matter how bad their first impressions are. Unfortunately there are exceptions to every rule.</p><p>(Or, Steve is a Crime Scene Investigator, Bucky heads the precinct's morgue, things are probably horribly unrealistic from a police standpoint, and Bucky should maybe learn not to flirt with Steve when dead bodies are about.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You Know What They Say About First Impressions (Don't You?)

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning:** there will probably be a lot of reference to dead bodies, since that's Steve _and_ Bucky's job, and there will probably be inappropriate humor on Bucky's part involving said bodies. He's the creepy morgue guy, okay. 
> 
> This has been a warning.
> 
> title from [B](http://thelittlestcrane.tumblr.com/post/84595550684/so-what-happened-to-bulletproof-weeks-in-your-arms)ulletproof Weeks - Matt Nathanson
> 
> Rating Will (Probably) Go Up Later!!

Steve likes to think he’s the kind of man that doesn’t take his first impression of someone to heart. He’s been proven wrong about enough people – for better and for worse – to know that first impressions aren’t necessarily accurate.

Of course, Steve isn’t perfect, and his first impression of James Barnes – the head of the precinct’s morgue – is…not great.

Rain is pelting the windows while Steve jots down notes on the crime scene and the two bodies found at it – a middle-aged couple found murdered in their home with no signs of forced entry – while Sam speaks in a comforting tone to the neighbor who’d called in the morbid discovery.

Steve taps the end of his pencil against the spiral of his notepad, frowning heavily at the sight. The couple is arranged in a fashion that clearly isn’t a natural one – whoever had killed them had moved them after, arranging them so they faced each other, arms draped over each other’s stomachs and pillowing their own heads. It’s eerie. It’s twisted.

“Steve,” Sam has finished with the neighbor and sent them on their way. “What do you think?”

“Did anyone case the other rooms of the house?”

“Natasha’s unit was here before us, but they got called onto another scene – Fury’s orders. She mentioned something about the bathroom.”

Steve nods, folding his arms. “Did she have any thoughts on a suspect?”

“She figures that’s your department,” Sam shrugs. “She was in a rush, though. Whatever Fury put her on doesn’t sound pretty.”

“This isn’t pretty,” Steve says, shifting his weight between his feet. “I’d guess the suspect knew the victims. There wasn’t forced entry, so they either own a key or-”

“Had enough access to the victims to have a copy made,” Sam nods. “I’ll have Stark get us their records; work, family, anything else?”

“If they’re part of any sort of organization or club, that too. We had those Gentleman’s Club murders a few months back. Maybe there’s a connection.”

“I think that trail is buried, man,” Sam fiddles with the walkie attached to his collar, “but I get your point. If they so much as donated to charity, we want to hear about it.”

“I don’t think a murderer is going to be hiding out in a charity group.”

“That’s because you choose to see the good in people.”

“And you don’t?” Steve looks over his shoulder.

“I choose to acknowledge that there _can_ be good in people,” Sam shrugs. “I admire your tireless optimism, though.”

“You’re making fun of me.”

“Is it that obvious?”

A knock on the door interrupts their familiar conversation, and they turn accordingly. Sitwell leans in the doorway, walkie buzzing at a low volume. “Do you need more time with the crime scene? They’re here to take him if you don’t.”

“You can send them up,” Steve says. “We’ll be done soon.”

Sitwell nods, disappearing around the door.

“Man, those morgue guys creep me out,” Sam shakes his head. “Going from crime scene to crime scene, packing up bodies.”

“Someone has to do it,” Steve lifts a shoulder. “Besides, Jessica isn’t that bad.”

“You didn’t hear?” Sam quirks an eyebrow. “Jones took maternity leave. She’ll be gone for a while so they’re shifting people around. Barnes is our guy, now.”

“No, I didn’t hear.” Good for her, though. Jessica would have worked herself up until delivery if Luke wasn’t in the picture. They’re good for each other, and Steve is happy for them. “Who’s Barnes?”

“He’s the big boss, according to Nat. He’s got Hill’s job, but for their division. Fury called him in from one of the fringe precincts.”

“How do you always know these things?” Steve mumbles to himself finally stepping away from the bodies. “Text Stark. I want these records by the time we get back. On our desks would be nice, but considering what he’s like…”

“Will do, Cap.”

“I’m not a captain,” Steve feels the need to remind him.

“Have you ever read your job description?” Sam rolls his eyes. “You’re a captain. If not in _rank_ , then at least in the _oh captain my captain_ sense.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Man, it’s a reference. Do you even _watch_ movies?”

“You know I do!”

A low whistle interrupts them, drawing their attention back to the door where a man is leaning against the doorframe. He’s not in uniform, though Steve figures he’d only have been let past the barrier if he was an official, and the shirt he’s wearing makes him look dressed for a club rather than a crime scene. His hair is tied back in a small tail, leaving a few strands to frame his face, which is covered in light stubble.

Steve mentally shakes himself from his stupor, realizing that he’s spent entirely too much time analyzing someone who _isn’t part of the crime scene_.

(He’s been told this is a problem.)

“Am I gonna need more than two bags?”

“Man, that’s just _wrong_ ,” Sam shudders, shaking his head.

Barnes – or the person Steve assumes is Barnes – barks out a short laugh. “It’s a _joke_ , Agent Wilson.”

“Officer,” Steve corrects.

“Agent, officer,” Barnes shrugs. “Same thing. Tell me what I’m dealing with, here. Should I be worried about explosions?”

“ _What_?”

“It’s happened,” Barnes deadpans to them, looking around Steve to see the bodies. “Huh. Marriage gone wrong?”

“It was a murder,” Steve frowns.

“Well, you _think_ it was a murder.” Barnes’ lips curl into a small grin. “You won’t really _know_ until I’ve done my thing.”

“It’s pretty clear this is a murder,” Sam narrows his eyes just slight enough to portray his annoyance – and Sam doesn’t get annoyed easily. Steve wonders if the two have a history, or if Sam really _is_ just uncomfortable around the people who work in the morgue.

“You say tomato,” Barnes shrugs. “You can go, if you’re done here. Unless you want to _help_.”

Sam makes a noise caught somewhere between distaste and revulsion – he’s fine around bodies until it comes to touching them. “I’ll be in the car,” he tells Steve, promptly turning and leaving the room.

“That guy,” Barnes jerks his finger, “really doesn’t like dead people.”

“Sam’s a good guy.”

“I know,” Barnes rolls his eyes. “Geez, you boys in uniform have no sense of humor.”

“I wasn’t aware you were being funny,” Steve says, more than a little disgruntled. It occurs to him that this isn’t a conversation appropriate for the situation, but from what he’s seen of Barnes so far, the man probably doesn’t care.

“I’m a riot,” Barnes says. “You officers just don’t seem to see it. Now, _these guys_ ,” Barnes looks at the bodies and sighs, and Steve is horrified and indignant to find that it’s almost wistful. “Dead folks just _get me_ , ya know?”

“I need to go,” Steve blurts. He has half a mind to report Barnes for inappropriate behavior, but if Barnes holds the same position as Hill, he outranks Steve quite a bit. Regardless, Steve leaves the room, ignoring the chuckles from Barnes that follow him into the hall.

Steve hurries out of the apartment complex, breaking into a jog once the rain hits him. He slides into the passenger seat, shaking out his hair as Sam half-heartedly protests. As Sam pulls out onto the road, Steve makes a mental note to call Jessica to ask about her leave.

Specifically, how soon it’s going to end.

 

 


	2. Killing Time (At The Office)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve is still perplexed and Sam is good at hiding his amusement about Steve's ordeal.

“I wouldn’t say we have a _history_ ,” Sam replies as the two of them step off the elevator and onto their floor of the station. “He shows up at Barton’s a lot. I think Natasha invites him.”

“He made a _joke_ , Sam,” Steve waves his hand sharply in the air, “about murder victims.”

They pass a handful of officers that are huddled around a tablet, heading to the desks in the center of the room that belong to them.

“That’s why I said morgue guys are creepy. But did you listen? _No_. This is called a learning experience, Steve.”

Steve drops into his chair, folding his arms across the surface of the desk. “Natasha is friends with him?”

Sam sighs, “Barton says they get along. I don’t know if Barton sees them when we aren’t at his bar, though.”

“Well,” Steve lets out a sharp breath. If _Natasha_ considers Barnes a friend, he can’t be as bad as…well, as bad he’d portrayed himself as. “Even so, he shouldn’t have said that. That’s the kind of behavior that gets reported.”

“Dude, who’s going to report him?” Sam sits on the edge of the desk across from Steve. “Take Stark, for example. Honest to god, I saw him trying to break into one of the cruisers to take it for a joyride. _Again_. Still, no one reports him for his behavior, though.”

“ _I_ report him,” Steve protests.

“No one but you,” Sam corrects, rolling his eyes, “and Fury just throws your complaints away.”

“What? Why?”

“’Cause as annoying as Stark can be, and as much as the two of you bicker, he’s the best at what he does. I’m guessing the same probably goes for Barnes.”

“Barnes wasn’t _annoying_ , he was… _inappropriate_. Unprofessional. Rude is another word that comes to mind, here.”

Sam holds up his hands but he looks like he’s holding back a laugh. “I’m not saying he wasn’t. I’m just saying you’re probably going to have to get used to him, at least until Jones comes back.”

Steve taps his fingers against the desk, glancing around the room. Finally, he changes the subject. “Did we get those files?”

“I sent Sitwell a text. He’ll make sure Stark actually delivers them to us.”

“Good. Do we know when we can get the autopsy results?”

“Give it a few hours,” Sam says. “We can head down there after break.”

Steve nods, checking the clock on his desk. They’re lucky enough to be in a building that connects to the morgue rather than halfway across town like most places. It’s a few long hallways and an elevator ride, but it beats driving twenty minutes for a five minute rundown on results.

“Sounds like a plan,” Steve rolls his chair closer to the desk. “Do you want me to file the report?”

“No, I got it.”

“You got it?” Steve looks up at Sam. “You hate writing reports.”

“Yeah,” Sam says slowly, “but I don’t hate the girl I hand in the report _to_.”

Steve chuckles, “you know you _could_ just ask her out?”

“Oh, I could just ask her out? What about you, huh? Do you _know_ how many people in this building want to take you out?”

“These situations are completely different,” Steve protests. “You want to take someone out. I’m fine just…being homebound on a Friday night. That’s not something that’s typically considered date-worthy, you know?”

“So you’re saying your type is an introvert?”

“I don’t have a type,” Steve sighs, opening his laptop. “I’ve _liked_ people, Sam, I’m just not good at the whole-. Why are we even having this discussion here? If you’re not going to file the report, I will.”

“Hey, now,” Sam chuckles, “I’ll file the report. I’m just multitasking.”

“Well,” Steve shifts, “I don’t really need a date right now, so you can cut down your tasks.”

“Oh, harsh. You know, if it was Natasha having this talk with you, there wouldn’t be an out.”

“I appreciate that you give me one,” Steve says, “and I’d appreciate it even more if we could maybe not have this talk at all.”

“Damn,” Sam shakes his head, moving to sink into the chair at his desk. “You’re damn stubborn, Rogers.”

“I know,” Steve flashes a quick grin – something to let Sam know he isn’t going to hold a grudge for the conversation later.

Sam snorts, opening his own laptop. Steve glances around the office while Sam starts typing, casually observing the room. The officers that had been bent over the tablet are now scattered around the room, talking in smaller groups. In the corner of the room, Thor’s desk is vacant. Steve hears he’ll be returning from his honeymoon within the next week, so at least there will be another friendly face in the office. Steve is, unfortunately, guilty of not getting to know a lot of people in the building. Positions and departments are shifted so often that it sometimes seems pointless.

“Hey,” Sam looks up. “Earlier, whatever you were going to say you weren’t good at? Don’t sell yourself short. You’re a good guy, Steve, and out of all the people that see that I’m sure there’s a few that don’t mind staying in on a Friday night.”

Steve looks down, not quite hiding his smile. Sam always seems to know what to say to him, even when he didn’t know he needed to hear it. “Thanks.”

Sam inclines his head before looking back to his computer, “don’t mention it.”

Steve nods, glancing at the clock on the bottom corner of the screen, “and now we wait.”

Sam snorts, agreeing, “and now we wait.”

 

 

 


	3. Mr. Stark, Ms. Potts, Dr. Banner, and some guy who might be a killer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve skips lunch to make some headway on the case.   
> Not much is actually learned.

Once again, Steve finds himself foregoing his lunch (is it still lunch if it’s at one in the morning?) break to meet with Stark in his lab. It’s not a huge loss, in retrospect; rice, a piece of day-old toast, and a pile of cubed ham to top it off.

While his stomach protests the loss, Steve’s brain is thanking him. He’s never been that good at putting meals together, and most of his attempts make him cringe. He makes a mental note to stop by one of the little bakeries in his neighborhood on the way home for a late breakfast – he likes the food and they like having law enforcement in the vicinity; it’s a win-win.

He enters Stark’s lab without knocking – there’s no point when there’s usually hard rock blaring from the speakers nestled in each corner of the ceiling – surprised to find a cluster of people already in the room, and a definite lack of music. Stark is sitting at his tiered computer desk, nodding his head at something Steve can’t hear. He notices Steve’s entrance quickly, cutting his actions short.

“Cap!” Tony exclaims, waving him over. “Unexpected but convenient. _You_ , my friend, are just in time to hear the _stunning_ details of this case.”

“It’s not unexpected at all,” Steve says under his breath. He doesn’t recognize one of the people in the room – a man around Stark’s age or older, wearing a tweed jacket and a mildly uncomfortable expression – but he knows the other from the few times he’d let Natasha and Sam drag him to one of Stark’s office parties. “Ms. Potts.”

“Steve,” Pepper smiles warmly at him, dressed in a mix of pajamas and work attire, a flattering blouse paired with pajama pants. She is either half-way home or half-way to work, though Steve isn’t sure where she works or what she does. “How are you?”

“Enough small talk,” Tony waves his hand. “I looked into our most recent and dearly departed’s digital records and I’ve come up with a list of not one, but _seven_ possible suspects.”

“Tony,” the unfamiliar man smiles like he isn’t used to the action, but Steve can see that it’s not forced. “That isn’t usually good news.”

“Did I say it was good news?”

“Your tone implied it.”

At Tony’s right, leaning on his desk, Pepper nods. “It did.”

“Ah, well. Steve _likes_ work, honey. It’s probably good news to him.”

“ _Suspects,_ Stark.” Steve resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Right, right. So,” Tony hits a few keys on his keyboard, popping up a face on each of the monitors that line the longest wall of the room. He sits back, twirling an LED pointer in his hand. “From most to least likely-”

“Mr. Stark,” Steve interrupts quickly, “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m in a bit of a rush. Let’s talk about the most likely first, and you can put together some files on the others.”

“Oh, can I?” Tony mocks excitedly. “Gee, Captain, that sounds _great_.”

“Tony,” Pepper sighs.

Tony scoffs, dropping his hand, “yeah, yeah. I swear, Rogers, you have got to be the only cop who finds paperwork better than listening to my presentations. I had music lined up and everything. Oldies stuff, right up your alley.”

“What’s your rush?” Pepper tilts her head, curious.

“It’s his lunch break, honey. Not that what he brings is actually _edible_.”

“Oh, Steve. Do you want me to grab you something from the deli on the corner? They’re still open.” Pepper straightens, making to leave.

“No, thank you though.” Steve smiles. “I’ve got to be down at the morgue in a few, is all. The death has to be proven suspicious before I’m allowed to do anything about it.”

Pepper nods, leaning back against the desk. “James, right? He’s working here now?”

“I. Yeah. Do you know him?” Steve is starting to feel like the only one who doesn’t.

“I do,” Pepper nods. “We’re not close, but we’ve spent time together. I think Bruce has spent more time with him than I have.” She looks to the man they had neglected to introduce.

“Ah, yeah,” Bruce – Banner, perhaps? Steve knows Tony runs in those kind of intelligence circles, and Bruce Banner is nothing if not known for his intelligence (and questionable sanity, though Steve doesn’t pay any attention to _those_ articles) – says. “I didn’t know he worked here.”

“Fury moved him down here,” Tony says. “Temporary thing. I think. Anyway, if you’re _sure_ you really just want the paperwork-”

“I’m sure.”

“Ugh. Boring. Fine, I’ll have someone put it on your desk once it’s all printed out.”

“Thank you,” Steve sighs.

“Alright, then. Most likely suspect,” Tony swivels in his chair, pointing to the screen hosting a picture of a young, smiling man. “ _This_ possible psychopath is named _Bob_.”

“Tony,” Steve groans.

“Hey, for once I’m not joking. Meet Robert Nathans, the estranged second son of the recently deceased.”

“Second son?”

“The first is overseas,” Tony says. “Army kid. Anyway, according to Nathans’ twitter page, he just got back into town a few days ago.”

“Do you have a motive?”

“Not yet,” Tony replies slowly, “but Mr. and Mrs. Nathans were making some large donations these past few weeks. I’m going to look into it more.”

Steve nods, “do we know what they were donating to?”

“Here’s where things get easier. Our mutual friend Officer Wilson spends a lot of time down at the VA, right?”

“Yes.”

“ _That’s_ where most of the donations are going. You might find someone there that will have some insight on Nathans Jr. Jr.”

Steve nods, “I’ll let Sam know. Keep looking?”

“I always do,” Tony rolls his eyes.

“Thanks.” Steve turns, “Ms. Potts. Dr. Banner.”

“Have fun at the morgue!” Tony calls after him.

“Gives James our best,” Pepper adds.

It’s _not_ that Steve is letting his first impression get in the way of his judgment, or that Barnes had been _seriously_ off-putting, but Steve doesn’t make any promises.   


	4. Rule Number One; You Gotta Have Fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve visits the morgue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Bucky is shamelessly blasting is [here](http://thelittlestcrane.tumblr.com/post/84981180554/at-least-i-think-i-do). Listen while you read for added pointlessness.
> 
> warning for inappropriate behavior around corpse's but not in a gross way, just in a Bucky way

As Steve makes his way down the hall, the faint sound of music drifts toward him. Steve is the only person in the hallway, which means he’ll probably be the only person in the room with Barnes and a plethora of corpses. If that’s not a morbid thought, Steve doesn’t know what is.

He’d sent Sam a text before getting into the elevator, letting him know about Stark’s discovery. Sam had offered to start making calls to the VA to jumpstart the case, and Steve doesn’t want to interrupt that. Ergo, his solitary visit to the morgue.

(Really, Steve isn’t sure why he’s so…wary of Barnes, if that’s even the right word to use. If Natasha and Pepper both know him, he can’t be that bad, right? It’s just- Steve isn’t used to having negative feelings about people he’s just met.)

As he closes in on the room, it becomes increasingly clear that the music blaring from beyond the doors is not something that should be played in a morgue. Steve recognizes the song – vaguely – from being played on one of the pop stations his apartment complex plays in lobby.

He takes a deep, steeling breath and opens the door, stepping inside the brigh-. Already, Steve notices the changes that have been made from the way Jessica sets up shop. Rather than a brightly lit, hospital-esque room, Barnes has turned off every light save a few floor lamps that are on wheels, and he has a small speaker system set up around his laptop that is practically vibrating against the table from the bass.

If Steve can _call_ it bass; it’s more like…electro-bass, or dubstep-bass.  

Barnes himself is in the center of the room, where the floor is dropped lower than the surrounding walkway. Two tables are resting before him, sheets covering the bodies that Steve suspects are the victims from his crime scene.

“Barnes,” Steve says, voice immediately drown out by the music. He frowns, glancing at the speakers. He repeats Barnes’ name twice more before he stalks over to the speakers, examining the set-up briefly before shutting it off.

The silence that envelops the room is quick, and Barnes’ reaction is instant. He turns from the bodies, resting one hand on his hip. “Hey,” he gives Steve a quick once-over, “I was listening to that.”

Steve crosses his arms, walking to the edge of the raised floor. “I don’t think that’s regulation.”

“Regulation,” Barnes rolls his eyes. “Is it going to be regulation when I strangle someone after going crazy being down here with dead people because I didn’t have my pop music?”

Steve doesn’t entirely know how to respond to that. He thinks Barnes is joking. Thinks. “Aren’t you a little old for pop?”

“ _First_ of all, I’m not even thirty,” Barnes gives him the stink-eye. “Secondly, life is way too short to pretend to hate pop music, so _no_. I’m not.”

Steve inhales, lifting his shoulders a bit.

“Anyway,” Barnes drawls, “I take it you’re here to find out if you’ve got a case or not?”

“Yes,” Steve steps down to Barnes’ floor, making a wider-than-necessary circuit around the bodies. “Do I?”

“Physically, no. There isn’t any sign of struggle outside of two pinpricks-” Barnes taps his fingers against the vein near his own wrist “-on each of them. I’m waiting to figure out what they were injected with.”

“The evidence of an injection should be enough,” Steve frowns.

“Not exactly,” Barnes crosses his arms. “If you go after a suspect and they find out you don’t have probable cause, you’d just make the job harder for yourself.”

“An injection mark _is_ probable cause.”

“ _Unless_ someone could make the argument that it was a suicide,” Barnes pins him with an unreadable look, “or that our only suspects are already dead – they could have done it to each other.”

“Why would they-” Steve cuts himself off. He’s seen worse, working for this department. Barnes, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, has a valid point. “Okay, how long before you know what they were injected with?”

“It depends,” Barnes shrugs. “The more obscure the compound, the longer it will take to figure it out.”

Steve stares at him.

“What?”

“You’re not doing anything, though.”

“Yeah,” Barnes says slowly. “We have computers for that kind of shit.”

Steve resists the urge to cough to hide his embarrassment. “Oh.”

“It might take a few hours,” Barnes says. “Still faster than I can do it. I flunked Chemistry.”

“Is that…a joke?”

“I don’t know, you tell me. If you’re in a hurry, I can just text you the results.”

“Yeah, that would work.” He can head out with Sam to the VA, and maybe convince his partner to stop somewhere for food first.

Barnes inclines his head, “so I can have your number then?”

“I-.” Steve pauses. “What?”

“Unless you’ve got some advanced, psychic phone, I _do_ actually need your number to text you.” Barnes rests his hip on one of the two tables. “If that bothers you, you can always just wait here for the results.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” Steve frowns. “I have a work phone.”

“Oh, so I have to work for the private one?”

“Yes-. No-. I’m not going to respond to that.”

Barnes snorts, digging a sharpie out of the pocket of his jeans and uncapping it with his teeth. He rests the marker over his skin, looking expectantly at Steve through his lashes.

Steve sighs and rattles off his work number, glancing around the room at the – thankfully – closed drawers built into the walls. He winces when Barnes angles one of the lamps at his face, effectively catching his attention.

“So, Steve-” Steve isn’t sure if he wants to know how Barnes knows his name “-let’s say these poor old folks weren’t offed by each other, and there is a killer out there. What’s his motive? Why did he do it the way he did it?”

“It depends on the suspect, and-. I’m not supposed to talk about the case openly.”

“If you can’t talk about the case to the guy who dug around the dead bodies for you, who can you talk to?” Barnes quirks an eyebrow.

“Minimally noted.”

“Only minimally?” Barnes grins, “you’re a tough nut to crack, Stevie.”

“It’s Steve,” he frowns. “I need those results as soon as possible.”

“All work and no play,” Barnes shakes his head. “Sure. I mean, if I’ve got the time. You can probably tell my dance card is incredibly full tonight.”

Steve mimics Barnes’ movements, turning for the door. He gets most of the way there before Barnes calls him back.

“Hey!”

Steve turns, and he can feel his mouth drop open. Barnes is holding up the hand – thankfully attached to the body – of a corpse, waving it as if sending Steve off. “Bye, Steve.”

“ _Jesus_ -”

Barnes’ laughter follows him all the way down the hall.  


	5. Probable Cause

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is definitely a murder case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everything i know about these chemicals is taken from wikipedia and google  
> i also am not good at chemistry. i capped chem in hs.
> 
> also i am aware that probable cause is not being used correctly for this title. idc, it's late and i can't think of anything better.

When Steve returns to his floor of the building, Sam is back at the computer desk, bent over and scribbling something while speaking into his phone. Steve lowers himself in the chair, listening as Sam finishes up the call.

“Uh-huh. I owe you one. Again, sorry for the wake-up call. I’ll see you in a few hours. Several. _Several_ hours, I swear. Uh-huh. Bye.”

Steve leans back in his seat as Sam hangs up. “Good news?”

“Yeah, there’s a VA group meeting this afternoon that we can hijack. According to my guy, our victims were well-known and well-liked. Odds are that we’ll have plenty of people willing to talk to us.”

“That is good news.”

“Did Barnes find probable cause?”

Steve scratches the skin above his eyebrow. “He’s working on it. He’ll text if he does.”

“Text?” Sam grins, “what, you give him your number?”

“My _work phone_ ,” Steve stresses, “yes.”

“Fair enough. The group meets at one, so we’ve got a lot of time to kill. I suggest popping home for a nap, man.”

“Your suggestion is noted,” Steve spins his chair, “but I should stay up until we know what’s happening with the victims.”

“Dude, you need to look approachable at the VA, not like an insomniac. Everyone there has problems of their own, they don’t need to be wondering about yours.”

Steve stares.

“What?” Sam lifts his hands. “It’s the truth.”

“The hard truth.”

“The truth hurts,” Sam waves him off. “Go take a break. Leave your work cell here, I’ll stay up until Barnes texts.”

“Shouldn’t you get some sleep?” Steve lifts an eyebrow.

“These people already know me,” Sam shakes his head. “You forget what I did before I became a cop.”

“No, I didn’t,” Steve lowers his eyes to the desk. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the state Sam came back from Afghanistan in. It had taken a long time for Sam to do anything besides spend his days at the VA, and Steve doesn’t blame him.

“My point is; they’ve already seen me at my worst. They _don’t_ need to see a stranger with raccoon eyes, dead on his feet, even if I _do_ vouch for him.”

“You vouch for me?” Steve smiles.

“Have you _met_ you? Everyone would vouch for you.”

“Not everyone.”

“Yes, everyone. Now get your ass to the break room and sleep. I don’t want you-”

Sam pauses as Steve’s work phone starts to vibrate with a text. He sits back, shaking his head as Steve goes to read it rather than follow Sam’s advice.

 **From: Barnes  
** _Turning up traces of C 2H6O2 and C41H64O14 . Got urself a case ;)_

“Do you know anything about Chemistry?”

“Not much,” Sam shrugs. “Wasn’t a job requirement. Why?”

Steve sighs, typing up a reply.

_I don’t know what those stand for._

_And don’t wink about murder. It’s not funny._

**From: Barnes**  
 _It’s ethylene glycol and digoxin. Deadly stuff. God, I failed Chem and even I know that._

_;)_

Steve sets his phone on the desk, locking the screen. “We’re good to go on probable cause. What do you know about digoxin?”

“Uh, next to nothing. Why?”

“I want to know where you’d have to work to have access to these things.”

“Just ask Barnes.”

Steve frowns, feeling all of two years old. He’s not pouting. He’s _not_.

“You’d ask Jones.”

He would.

Steve sighs, snatching his phone up again.

_Where can you get those?_

**From: Barnes**  
 _eg – commonly in antifreeze, but it’s more concentrated here. d – flowers, if you know what you’re doing._

“Dude, go sleep. You can work on this later.”

“Sam-”

“Go. Now. Or so help me, Rogers.”

Steve tries not to groan, setting his phone down. “Fine. If you’re staying up, though, look up what you can about these chemicals.”

Sam gives him a two-fingered salute. “Whatever you say, Cap.”

 


	6. Real Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sam will not stop talking about Steve's love life.

Steve wakes up to a handful of text messages, and he scrolls through them while he rummages around the fridge in the break room, in search of food that has been there long enough to claim. His policy, as is most everyone’s, is that if you’ve seen it before and it’s still there, it’s yours.

He has nine messages from Barnes, none of which are actually relevant to the case.

**From: Barnes**   
_So we’re talking deadly botanist._

_Murder on the Botanist Express_

_The Hound of the Botanists_

_An Unsuitable Job for a Botanist_

_The Botanist in White_

_B is for Botanist_

_And Then There Were No Botanists_

_I admit that last one got away from me._

_Do my literary puns mean nothing to you?_

Steve chooses not to reply, scrolling to his other messages.

**From: Natasha**   
_Fury sent us to a murder that took place at an art school overnight. What do you know about how how hard someone has to be hit with an easel to kill them?_

Steve almost gapes at the text, replying quickly.

_Is that your only working theory?_

**From: Natasha**   
_You don’t think I know how stupid that sounds?_

Steve shakes his head, making a mental note to actually work through the math later.

**From: Sam**   
_In the cruiser. Time to go._

Shit. Steve closes the fridge without choosing anything and books it to the door.

 

 

 

“You have to admit, they’re good puns.”

“Are you on his side now?”

“Are there sides now?”

Steve lets out a slow breath, “no.”

“That’s right,” Sam says, like he’s chiding Steve and making fun him at the same time. “There aren’t any sides.  We’re all the good guys, we’re in this together.”

“You sure changed your tune,” Steve mutters, flipping through the list of names Sam had given him to memorize for the interviews.

“I had a chat with Nat. Barnes isn’t so bad.”

“As in?”

“As in, if Nat ain’t gonna tell you herself, I’m not risking my neck blabbing her story.”

Steve rests his arm on the window. “Is there a reason you starred some of these names?”

“Yeah, they’re for me to talk to. You can take the rest.”

“Friends?”

“Guys I served with. Figure questions will be received better coming from me.”

“You air force guys sure are tight,” Steve nods.

“Yeah, and you army guys wish you were us.”

Steve chuckles, sitting back in the seat. “Yeah, cause you air force guys have it easy.”

“I will pull this car over, Rogers, I swear.”

Steve raises his hands in surrender, settling in. “Do you really think those texts have any significance though. I mean, could we be dealing with a deadly botanist?”

“It’s NYC Steve. We could be dealing with deadly mimes and it wouldn’t be abnormal.” Sam taps his thumb on the steering wheel. “Do you want to know what I think?”

“Do I?”

“I think you’ve got a weird fix on Barnes. When you don’t like someone, you don’t show it. You just don’t talk about them. You treat Barnes differently.”

“Are we really having this conversation?”

“We are unless you want to walk to the VA.”

“So, if you don’t dislike him, what do you think about him?”

“I don’t know, Sam. He’s rude.”

“Mm.”

“Inappropriate.”

“Yeah.”

“Very…different.”

“And that’s bad?”

“I don’t know. It’s…different.”

“So you’re fixated on him because you aren’t used to his behavior?”

“I don’t know. I’m not fixated on Stark, and Stark is rude and inappropriate too.”

“Yeah, but let’s face it, Stark isn’t your type.”

“What does _that_ mean? And I don’t have a type!”

“Stark is taken, at least a decade older than you, and you work on the same floor as him. Not to mention your personalities clash too much to overcome that ‘opposites attract’ trope. He essentially falls into your ‘unavailable coworker’ category, just like Sharon did.”

“I _dated_ Sharon.”

“You went on six dates, and she never even changed her facebook status.”

“I don’t have a type.”

“Then we have Barnes, who seems to be your age, which usually means similar interests, or you can at least talk about the same events with a similar perspective. He doesn’t work on our floor, and it’s only temporary that he even works in our building. He outranks us, actually, and you have a thing for authority figures. He’s your type, Rogers.”

“I thought we established that I don’t have a type, and I don’t have a thing for authority figures.”

“Detective Carter.”

“Sam-”

“ _Detective Carter_ ,” Sam raises his voice to drown out Steve’s, “was twice our rank, sent over from England to help on a case. You practically kissed the ground she walked on.”

“I did not,” Steve grumbles. “Besides, Peggy went back to England, and she’s in a very happy relationship. We write.”

“Don’t deny the fact that you would have bent over backwards if she asked you to. You treated her like a queen.”

“You should treat everyone politely.”

“That’s not what polite looks like, Rogers. That was _besmitten_.”

“Can we focus on the case, please?”

“Sure,” Sam shrugs, throwing him a wicked smile, “but we’re gonna spend the whole day together, Steve, and talking about the case won’t take that long.”

“Gee,” Steve rests his weight against the door. “I can’t wait.”


End file.
